


HomeMade

by IwaKitsune



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Existential Crisis, Found Family, Gen, Reunions, Sign Language, also Oro being bad at emotions, headcanon time aww yeah and also this is soft cause I'm weak for that, little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 13:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwaKitsune/pseuds/IwaKitsune
Summary: Life is a very strange, fickle beast to handle. What is one to do when one gets a chance they didn't expect?It's easier to face challenges when there's stability, and that they had found in a little hut at the edge of the world a long time ago.
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & Nailmaster Oro
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	HomeMade

**Author's Note:**

> Whispers from afar: found family time--  
First time trying to write Oro but if I keep editing this I'll never post it so here we go.
> 
> A little bit of a sequel to _Of Thread and Its Uses_ (which I'm real happy was liked thank you ;W; ), though not DIRECTLY after it. If anyone can help me figure out how to get these works into a Collection I'd appreciate it. Now, on with the show!

The tunnels were lit by long cracks along the ceiling, fuzzy white light raining down and painting the dust and ashes that floated in the air. It was a familiar sight, as were the occasional enemies that remained, even with all the changes the passage of time brought. A kingdom no longer in stasis. 

They were trying to avoid fighting, with their limbs feeling strange and alien still, though far less heavy and stiff than they had a long time ago. Their cloak whipped behind them as they dashed away from Hoppers and Primal Aspids deeper into the tunnel, their claws digging slightly into the ash that clumped on the floor and the sturdy stone that held it. The stomping of Great Hoppers grew quieter as they left them behind, the bulky bodies too awkward to get through the small opening they had gone through, coupled with the beasts' nonexistent climbing abilities. Better for them, they could finally take a moment to breathe.

It wasn’t a long break, not when they could almost see the goal they were reaching for. Brokey jogged, claws tapping in a steady pace that echoed softly against the walls of the tunnel, and a hut at the end slowly came into view. Their steps slowed but never stopped. It had been so long since they last saw this building—still as sturdy as it had seemed when they first set eyes on it, with a flap of cloth hanging over the entrance like a makeshift door, heavy enough to barely move with the occasional gust that ran through the tunnels, kicking up ashes. It would look abandoned like so many other places in the kingdom, if it weren’t for the fact it was clearly cleaned recently.

They stood by the cloth and reached out, tapping their knuckles hard enough on the wall to echo with purpose in the air. They took a step back as they heard a shuffle from inside and switched their grip on the small Hopper they had hunted. The cloth was pulled aside and they looked up (still had to look up) at Oro’s dark eyes.

Brokey bowed to their teacher deeply, extending their arms forward to present the small gift they had brought for him. Oro stared, stiff as a statue, for long enough that Brokey was starting to worry they had somehow messed up—until he spoke up.

His voice just as gruff and rough as they remembered. “After all this time, you appear at my doorway. And you come looking like you got trampled by a Stag Beetle? Shake off all that dust and come inside.” And then the cloth closed behind him with a slight whoosh of air—the weight of their hunt leaving their hands along with him.

They did as told, taking a couple moments to brush off the ash and dust that had gathered on their shoulders and mask, careful to try and avoid having any get past the bandages around their head, and shaking their cloak off as well. Their hand rested on the cloth—familiar sensation against their fingers, one that they never thought they’d feel again—before they pushed it aside to walk in.

The inside of the hut was a blunt brick of nostalgia hurled at their chest, and they could do nothing but stand by the entrance and simply... glance around. The different shelves and other pieces of furniture, along with the myriad of weapons and trinkets in an organized disarray, the drapes hiding some parts of the hut from immediate view, old armors and cloaks, and the firepit in the middle of it all, under the skylight that let in a white glow without the dancing specks.

Oro, even with his back to them, gave a small huff and continued preparing the kill Brokey had brought, the steady, high-pitched singing of the knife cutting through shell accompanying his words. “Need me to walk you in by the hand or what? Get the fire started.”

They nearly felt tears welling at the corner of their eyes and quickly entered deeper into the warm embrace of their second home.

Memory guided them to one of the walls where a cord was half hidden, tied to a peg. They quickly untied and pulled it, hearing the shuffle of a panel opening somewhere around the skylight before they retied it and grabbed a couple things to spark the pit to life. With their back to Oro, they kneeled and placed things in the shape he had taught them, little heart of void fluttering at the familiarity of the situation.

Unknown to them, Oro turned and stared hard, convincing himself that they were indeed in the room, methodically doing just as he had taught them ages ago. He set the knife to the side and paused, taking in the differences—a bit bigger, but still hidden by the too-long cloak... gods, they really needed to get rid of that thing, but he remembered their unwillingness to letting him do away with it when he had given them one of his own after a particularly nasty ambush from the Great Hoppers; he remembers the void black eyes staring intently as he, instead, fixed the worst of the tears. But that which wasn’t hidden at all—the mask with the long horns, but missing one and wrapped with bandages instead, and a sharp crack that ran from under those bandages to the eye.

Eyes that glowed blue instead of the black that should have been there, a blue that painted the very same crack seemly from the inside, that showed slightly under their cloak whenever they moved in a certain way, vines tinted with the color around their neck like a necklace, poking from the edge of their cloak.

Brokey noticed the lack of sound after a moment of tending to the waking fire. They turned to look at Oro, tilting their head slightly in a subtle gesture they had adopted from somewhere else much longer than he had known of their existence. His heart clenching in his chest at the familiarity of it, at the fact that, even with that wrong color they still had the same energy to them.

Nothing like those beasts he had encountered with the orange glow.  
Thinking of it, he had not seen any with orange eyes in a time...

He huffed, moving to put the meal into a large pan, walking closer to set that over one side of the firepit. “Good to see you’re not burning down the place.” He could almost swear there was a smile on the other’s face, a subtle crescent shape to the edge of their eyes. He looked away, glaring down at the pan and moving the pieces inside with a long metal tool. There was a quiet, insistent tap that called for his attention and he forced himself not to look up immediately, and instead faked a deep sigh and turning to stare blankly at the Vessel. “What.”

Brokey, undisturbed by the bluntness or the glare, simply signed. “Tea?”

“Hrm, guess so. Leaves are on the same cabinet.”

They gave a quick nod and got back up, half jogging to rummage amongst his things as he focused on not letting the meal burn, trying to avoid thinking of the fact his old apprentice was back again in his house, against all odds. He decided to blame the smoke and heat for the burning behind his eyes.

It wasn’t long before the Vessel returned with a filled kettle and two cups, kneeling opposite of Oro before putting it to rest over the free side of the firepit, watching the dancing flames and Oro stirring the meat on the pan with quick flicks. Silence settled between them, familiar and yet somehow stifling, a caged, nervous energy lurking just at the edge of their reach.

Words weren’t exchanged as the food was served and eaten and the kettle whistled. Oro stared at Brokey, they kept their gaze down on the cup. Questions swirled in his thoughts and he dug his claw slightly into his leg as he tried to find a way to voice them. Would it be too much to ask—demand—where they had run off to, for so long? What happened to them in all the time they were away?

“Life didn’t treat you all that well, huh, kid?” He settled for with a low huff and a shake of his head, weary with the way the same words resonated with him.

Brokey didn’t respond for a couple moments and then their reply was a noncommittal gesture with their hand as they placed the cup back down. “I shouldn’t be here.”

That was... not the response he expected. The word left him before he could stop it. “What?”

“I shouldn’t be here. Alive. Sitting in your home.” The reply was quick. Something that had been thought for too long.

Oro bristled a little, giving a low grunt. “Tough luck for both of us, kid. Explain.”

Brokey’s hands stilled, claws twitching in the air as if unsure what to do with them. They reached up and traced the crack on their mask. They met Oro’s gaze and replied, their hands slow as if struggling to find the correct words, picking up speed by the end like the thought was too frantic to catch. “Failed. My mission. Duty. Sibling—sibling could do it. Sibling. Sibling did it and gave... chance, opportunity. I wanted it. I don’t know if I should.” They lowered their hands to their lap, clenching them into fists and lowering their head slightly.

The crackling of the fire rung loudly in the following quiet, uncomfortable and thick. “Existential crisis then.” Was the way Oro broke the silence, stabbing at the fire on the pit with a long metal spike. “So why come here? I don’t have answers for you.”

Brokey’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “Here is safe. Here is home too. Wanted to see you and apologize—”

“Save it, kid.” Oro growled immediately, almost spitting it out. He would not admit to the stutter in his breathing.

“—and thank you for your teachings.” They continued, tension leaving their shoulders in exchange for mild amusement at the reaction, expression calm and as open as they seemed capable of even to the stinging glare of the large bug sitting before them.

“Save it. You aren’t dying.”

There were a couple soft exhalations like a mute chuckle, Brokey’s shoulders hunching a little with the sound as well. “Guess I’m not.”

As good as Oro was at reading body language, and as clear as the Vessel was with all the limitations they seemed to put on themself, he couldn’t be sure what tone to give those words.

“Your sibling. Tiny thing with a dark blue cloak and a Pure Nail?” Brokey perked up a little and nodded, lifting their arms to mimic the curve of symmetrical horns, two claws out. “Yeah. They were here.” They tilted their head a little, silent question. “Taught them the Dash Slash. Quick learner, that one, couldn’t be able to tell which one of you two learned faster. They did show my brother’s Nail Art, so they must have trained with Mato, too. Don’t think that’d help them there, Mato and I have very different learning and teaching methods.”

Brokey nodded, thinking for a couple moments before raising a hand to the bottom of their mask, tapping their claws. Quickly enough, they leaned a little forward, Oro could almost feel a distrusting squint. “How much.”

Oro’s sardonic smirk was enough to make them sigh heavily, hand slapping their mask at the next words: “800 geo.” A low, short bark of a laugh at the blunt stare the Vessel sent, their arms crossed. “Named the price and they paid up. A good treasure hunter I’ll give you that. Stubborn, too.” He nodded in the direction of the shelves on the wall, obscured by a large shell-shield: a flower with paper-thin petals on a pretty, if slightly chipped, vase. “No clue where they found that, but if it’s what I think it is then they went through a lot of trouble to get that thing to the ass crack of nowhere.”

Brokey stared at it for a couple seconds before standing up, walking towards it in a slight daze. Oro kept his eyes on his apprentice but didn’t move a claw, even as they reached to touch the vase. Silence remained, even as the Vessel turned after what felt like minutes, their hands in clear view of Oro even if they seemed to still have their eyes focused on the flower. “They brought one to me too, I think. I think. I can’t remember if that was real.”

“If they did, they found a goldmine. Delicate flowers used to be coveted by everyone, few were capable of giving them the proper care they needed to bloom and then taking that to another location was an exercise in madness. A botanist would give an eye for that thing.”

“They have meaning?”

“Name implies it. You look at it wrong and it’ll drop all the petals. Used to be something of a very dear gift to loved ones because of how much care you’d need to have to get them anywhere in one piece and how rare they are or whatever.” Oro waved a hand, voice with a slight grumble. “Don’t know why they’d bring it here. I’ll sell it to whoever comes by and shows interest.”

Oro jumped slightly at the squeaking coming from Brokey, their shoulders shaking and their eyes brimming with amusement. Their hands struggled a little to form the words clearly. “You won’t.”

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, a slight growl of warning in his tone. All a ruse, they both knew.

Brokey shook their head. “You won’t. No one would come all the way here and ask to buy a flower, if they did you’d give an outrageous price.” They turned to look back at the flower for a moment, a small chirp leaving them. “You didn’t leave it out in the ashes, put it in a place to care for it.”

“Leaving it out there would be a waste of a perfectly good possible profit. I’m not an animal.” Brokey could only try to calm their squeaks under the burning glare of the Nailmaster. “Slandered in my own house. You should be the one that I throw out into the ashes and vermin.”

Finally, they stilled their laugh and cooed a pacifying sound, making their way back to the firepit and giving a half-hearted ‘sorry’ instead. They sat back down, cloak fluttering with the movement and settling around them like tendrils. Or vines. Speaking of...

“Guessing those aren’t a fashion statement, eh?” He asked, pointing the metal spike still in his hand at the vines around Brokey’s shoulders. They tensed up slightly at having something sharp pointed in their direction before lifting their hand up to trace the vines, shaking their head slightly and giving a shrug.

“Can’t get them off but aren’t bothersome.”

He shrugged back, nudging at the coals again and stabbing the spike on the pit. “Everyone’s always been cautious of the lifeblood things. Been here longer than anyone alive and probably will stay long after everyone dies off. For all that has been said and done, it is a rather benign substance, but messing too much with ancient things just isn’t advised. Useful when right at the edge though, keeps you from death’s doorstep long enough to get to safety.”

Brokey nodded distractedly, tracing the vines and the cracks on their carapace and mask as they thought, shoulders hunching slowly as they mused to themself. “I’m worried. If it’ll be like. Like. Like...” They gave a full body shudder, limbs locking up as they lower their head further, shaking it in an effort to dislodge an unpleasant thought. Oro stared at them with studious dark eyes, making no motion to stop them. All they could manage after that is the word ‘sickness’, head downcast and a cold pressure at the edge of their eyes, black swirling in them with an accumulation of void.

Sickness. Like the Infection that had wracked the kingdom to its fall from grace, the illness that travelled through dreams and made most everything it touched go mad and aggressive. The creatures at Kingdom’s Edge had always been something to be cautious of, but that maddening orange glow had made them grow more and more dangerous with time. An excellent challenge to overcome should one seek it and a promise of death for those overwhelmed and unprepared.

Oro thought about the words from earlier. ‘Shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be alive.’ He had not exactly lied when he said they looked like they got trampled by a Stag Beetle after all; what had happened to them? Could he even ask that? He stamped down those thoughts.

“I’ll guess this is related to that ‘opportunity’ your sibling gave you. Why’d you accept to try?”

There was hesitation, they didn’t look up at him. “Sibling offered. Said... said it could help. Could be another chance, maybe. Gave the charms, encouraged.”

“Gave you stuff they always carried around and probably used themself.” Another huff. “So you think your sibling lied?”

Brokey snapped their head up, glaring at him with startled anger, a quiet growl following their motions. “No! They wouldn’t.”

“Then take their word for it, kid.” He grunted, staring at them with eyes that practically screamed he thought them stupid. “Going through all that trouble wouldn’t be just for a laugh. Your sibling cares for you, they wouldn’t set you up for failure.”

Brokey lowered their head, their anger fizzling out like embers on water, staring blankly at the fire as Oro took the spike and continued poking at it, a gentler prod than the jabbing he had done earlier. He pretended not to notice the way their hand seemed to trace something over the folds of the cloak. He did glance up when they tapped at the floor in a rhythm to call their attention, waiting for them to continue as they clicked their claws together in thought. “Would like to meditate.”

Yeah, he could agree with that. Too much to think about after these conversations. He half-shrugged and prodded at the fire one last time, sure it would remain in a steady burn to warm the place. “Go ahead, kid. There’s plenty of space and I’m not the one keeping you from that.”

“Not a kid.” Brokey signed half-heartedly, tilting their head at him.

Oro rolled his eyes. “Does it look like I care.” They only shrugged and shifted their position slightly, nearly unnoticeable with the way their cloak draped over their entire frame. The sound of the fire crackling and the occasional scraping of the spike were the only ones disturbing the silence and their eyes went dark as if closed, head bowed and thought focused on their breathing and the subtle pulse under their bandages.

* * *

_Their eyes focused to blue, their shade’s tendrils brushing faintly against a smooth rock platform, strangled by vines that were even unlike others nearby, choked with thorns and hanging cocoons a distance away. The shape of butterfly wings twitching and shifting the glow like loose Soul. The platforms and vines continued in different directions, becoming fuzzy with the distance until they were simple blobs and blurs._

_Everything blue around. Blue blue blue—felt like the Abyss, with its grayscale ruling the darkness. The dangerous spikes and volatile void. Unlike it, the vines didn’t seem interested in lashing out._

_White eyes stared out, subtle dread mixing with a strange familiarity that soothed it. They called out in the ancient tongue of darkness. Sound travelled strange here, like being underwater, a constant but calm flow of beats, too soft to truly be likened to a heart. A cocoon shifted and lifeseeds sprout from it slowly, plopping the short distance to the platform and skittering through the stones and vines—the sound of their steps distorted in a way that made it easier to bear. They continued calling._

_Far away, too far to identify with the blur of the soft glow, a large silhouette shifted, multiple eyes of vibrant blue settled on the shade._

_Words with no voice pulsed through the blue, coming from every direction and rippling around the shade like the water of a hot spring. The shade’s tendrils shifted to twist onto each other, unsure if they should be comforted that whatever it was seemed to respect the void inside them as to not disturb it or concerned at the fact they were before a Being with as much power as what made them, chained them, saved them._

_It wouldn’t be so unnerving if they weren’t a lone soul in this place, a shade cut from the shadows. It was almost a reminder of the Dream Realm but the blue glow was not searing or oppressive, even if it was overwhelming._

_The silhouette in the distance shifted slightly, a gargantuan shape focusing its attention on them, and they shrunk away a little. They had called, hadn’t they? And now they didn’t know what to do with the presence looking at them. A ripple went through the blue—like water, like light, and like neither all the same—and they jumped as lifeseeds climbed from the vines to their platform, clumping at their tendrils attentively._

_The vibrant blue eyes shifted away from them, and they sagged in a relief of not being pinned down under that unknown attention. Instead, they looked down at the lifeseeds around, watching the sway of their little leaves in the air..._

* * *

They focused to a familiar scene, the glow of the firepit and its warm touching everything with gentle comfort, casting low-light to the different trophies and furniture around the room, their exact shapes melding together without the extra source of light from the skylight above now that even the outside had been embraced with the darkness of what they assumed was the passage of time.

On the other side of the firepit was a large bug, fur and cloak and armor and a mask with three horns and a headband. Brokey stalled and stared for a moment, raising a hand to rub at the corner of their mask’s eye socket as if to clear their vision, letting their claws catch on the vine that curled there.

Oro lifted his head just enough to look at them from his peripheral vision. “Clean bandages before actual rest, kid.” He harrumphed, straightening his back enough to have it pop before returning to his hunched sitting position, pointing a claw at them when they rose their hands to protest. “No excuses.”

Brokey sighed, knowing it a lost fight, but still clicking their claws together as they signed. “Not injury.”

“What did I just say.”

“Waste of bandages.”

“Last warning before I get you in a headlock.”

They shook their head but complied, getting up and swaying on their feet for half a second before approaching the place Oro kept his medical supplies. They set a roll of clean bandages on a low table before reaching up, pulling the end of the bandages free and starting to unwrap them—it caught on their horns and they mutely grumbled their frustration, pulling at them until they unraveled enough to continue.

Once free, they examined the edge that was in closest contact with the soft blue layer that closed the gap on their shell, some of the color had been soaked into the white cloth. Their fingers touched the area itself—past the jagged edge of the shell was squishy like too soft carapace, but resistant enough to touch and not painful. They quickly turned when they heard Oro stand up, standing still as a statue as he approached and squinted at their cracked shell.

“How in the wyrm’s name did you manage that.” He muttered under his breath and Brokey’s shoulders tensed, unsure if he meant the level of damage on their mask or having what seemed to be an outer layer of a lifeblood cocoon, but they made no motion to reply. Oro didn’t seem to actually expect an answer either way, simply reaching for the clean bandages. “With those horns it’ll be hard to put it on properly, stay still.”

It was definitely quicker work having someone else fix the bandages. Brokey stayed as still as they could as Oro worked, only tilting their head when asked and tapping their claws against Oro’s armor to warn him if he was hitching the bandages too high up their horns, a weird kind of discomfort following that sensation. The motions and cues practiced, even if they had not been done in a long time. Once done, Oro gave one last check before stepping back, glancing at Brokey’s hands as they signed.

“Told you bandage change was not needed.”

“Kid.” Oro growled in warning. Brokey shrugged stiffly, not meeting his eyes. “Kingdom’s Edge doesn’t care if it’s injured or not, ash will get there and will create a problem.”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Not my business.” He saw the beginning of signs and the immediate halt to them, a sentence bitten back before it could be formed. He reached out and grabbed one of the long horns, pulling on it quick but gently enough to simply get Brokey to let out a surprised squeak and follow the motion, arms thrown out to steady themself. They finally looked up at him, chirruping a confused sound. “You already came here, sat down to think, and will not be leaving until there is at least some light out there. If you got something you need to get off your chest, do it.”

“Like you do about your siblings?” Brokey snapped back in sharp gestures. Oro let go of their horn and sighed low and long, shaking his head and walking away from them and back to the firepit, sitting down.

Minutes passed in silence, with only the occasional crackle of burning fuel. Oro heard them approach a couple minutes into the standstill, feeling them mimic his pose by his side. He chanced a side-glance, watching them staring at the fire and flexing their hands against their legs time and time again. Finally, they sighed and he lifted his head to face them, reading the signs and the weight behind them: “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. It is complicated. I don’t know what to think.”

“Complicated fits the bill on everything.” He shrugged. “Hard to get a read on the demons you have to fight if it happened recently.”

“And if it happened long ago too.”

“Was that a question or an affirmation.” Oro snorted lightly and simply raised a hand, patting their head—closest to the horns—and Brokey merely hummed, leaning slightly into the touch. “You act like a Tiktik or a grub when you do that, you know?”

They snorted back at him, fake irritation. “Not a kid.”

Oro rolled his eyes. “Fine, if I don’t call you kid, then what?”

That got them to perk up, a chirp torn from their chest as they replied. “Name! Brokey!”

Oro raised a brow, mostly noticeable by a shift of the headband. “Your sibling gave that to you, didn’t they.”

A slight huff of a laugh. “I like it. It’s mine.”

“Fine, if you want to stay with such a silly sounding name, Brokey.” The locked mandibles at the bottom of their mask opened enough to let them stick their void-black tongue out at him. “Never mind, it fits you just fine, you hooligan.”

Oro sat cross-legged on the floor, posture relaxed, and Brokey plopped down next to him, leaning against his side, twisting the hem of their cloak between their hands and nodding off. He didn’t push them away.

He did kinda wished he had pulled a cushion closer, though.


End file.
